House of Dark Shadows

by Robert Liparulo

  He swung the machete down into a leaf the size and thickness of a bath towel. It fell away before him and he smiled. He sliced again and again, stepping forward each time.

  Blazing a path, he thought. Isn’t that what they say? So he blazed.

  He had no clue where he would end up, but he believed he was putting ground between him and the tigers. He swung the machete diagonally, lopping away a leaf and a branch. They fell to the ground, revealing the snarling face of a tiger. Its head was huge, twice the size of David’s. The cat was pulled back onto its haunches. One paw up, ready to strike.

  Its claws were curved blades: a single one could cause butcher-knife damage; five would take off his face and open him up.

  He jumped back, but amazingly did not scream. He could not even breathe. He raised the machete over his head and turned it so the big cat could see it. It hissed, baring teeth the size of railroad spikes. Its eyes watched David intently.

  He had heard something about what not to do with great predators. If he remembered right, turning and running would be the end of him. Rather, he backed slowly away. The animal did not move. Reversing along the path he had blazed, he moved around a bend and lost sight of the beast. Almost directly behind him, lost among the heavy leaves, another tiger roared.

  Certainly not the same one. It could not have—

  Finishing his thought for him, the tiger in front roared.

  The third tiger joined in, off to his left. David’s entire body shook in fear.

  Dang it, Xander, he thought, you could be wrong sometimes, you know. With no other place to go, he turned right and pushed through the tangle of vines and branches and plants with their stupid bath-towel leaves. He avoided using the machete, thinking its rhythmic chopping would bring the tigers more quickly, the way a thrashing fish drew sharks. For just a moment, he thought of the centipede and snake and wondered if he’d run into more of them. Just as quickly, he dismissed the thought. Those things were just pests in a world of true killers. He wished the creepy-crawlers were all he had to worry about.

  Unable to cross a particularly dense spot, he chopped at it with the machete. A tiger roared. It sounded close. Leaves rustled nearby. Something was moving alongside him, twenty feet away. He pushed forward and it moved again, pacing him.

  He realized he had been hearing the thunderous sound of a waterfall. For a time, he had mistaken it for his own blood rushing past his ears. Hope welled in him. A waterfall meant water, and cats didn’t like water. He pushed toward it, chopping and cutting when he had to. He hoped none of the cats realized what he was doing and cut him off.

  Something moved, heavy and fast, behind him. He spun, machete raised, expecting to see only the gaping maw of a tiger as it leaped at him. Instead, furry striped hindquarters and a tail flashed past. The thing had run right past him. He didn’t know if tigers tormented their prey or if they were simply cautious hunters.

  He felt tormented and he felt hunted.

  Then the jungle stopped—just like that. It gave way to the granite edge of a cliff. Way down below, a river sparkled. The waterfall he’d heard was a half-mile away. The other side of the chasm was a long way off.

  And the tigers were very close.

  Like a gift from heaven, only a stone’s throw away, was a bridge spanning the chasm. It was made of rope and wooden planks. If he beat the tigers across it, he could cut the ropes on the other side, separating them from their meal.

  A tiger roared . . . David thought it sounded like a laugh. He hurried along the rock ledge to the bridge.

  Movement behind him. A snapped twig, leaves flung aside with the sound of a wind-rippled sail, the pounding of heavy paws. He stepped onto the first planks, testing them. The wood felt solid, but the bridge was wobbly. He took another tentative step, ready to run if the tigers appeared, but they were nowhere in sight.

  What did appear were men on the other side of the bridge. They were dark skinned and scantily dressed. Some kind of aboriginal tribe, David guessed. He did not know where in the world he was or what these people might be called. The three he had first noticed became triple that as they poured from the dense brush. Certainly they were hunters and would want the tigers. In fact, they carried spears and bows and arrows. He hurried toward them. Two of the archers took aim.

  David looked back. No animals. Perhaps these hunters had spooked them. One archer released his arrow. David had to duck to avoid being skewered through the head.

  “Hey!” he yelled. The camera swung against his chest.

  The other archer fired. The arrow sailed a few inches from David’s right arm. A spear came next, in a shallow arc designed to impale him. He dropped straight down onto the planks. The camcorder— he’d forgotten all about it—struck him hard in the chin. The machete flipped out of his hand and pinwheeled into the abyss. The spear clattered on the wood behind him. The bridge began to shake. David closed his eyes and gripped the edges. More shaking. The hunters had mounted the bridge and were running toward him in single file.

  He lifted a shaking hand to one of the ropes that acted as a handrail for crossers. He pulled himself up and tore quickly away from the approaching hunters.

  Ahead, a section of tall fronds whipped back and forth violently, then stopped. A tiger roared.

  An arrow whizzed across his shoulder, slicing his T-shirt. It continued on to thunk into a tree, where it quivered as though furious about missing its mark.

  David stepped off the bridge. He darted left along the rock ledge. A spear struck the ground three feet ahead of him and snapped in two. Each piece spun off in a different direction. Abruptly, he turned and plunged into the jungle. One of the big cats snarled nearby. It thrashed through the underbrush as big and heavy as a car. David veered away from it. Ahead of him a tiger roared.

  He stopped. The thrashing continued for another few seconds, then stilled.

  Breathing. Panting. Under it was a rolling rrrrrr, almost a purr. Not friendly or loving. This was more of a satisfied sound. The creature knew it was going to get what it wanted.

  More rustling in front of David. The inhalation and exhalation of a second beast reached his ears. Farther off, the pattering of bare feet on the wood-planked bridge, growing louder. A fat raindrop struck David’s head.

  Rain, he thought. Just what I need right now.

  Another drop splattered on his shoulder. He felt it: sticky. He looked up. The third tiger was crouched on a branch high above him. At least for now, it seemed content to watch. He thought that was a particularly feline trait: to watch or play with its food until it grew bored and then the banquet started. He believed his only choice was to break through the jungle and leap off the cliff. He really didn’t think he would survive the fall, even if he hit the water far below. But he would rather have that one chance in a million than no chance at all with these tigers and hunters.

  But it was too late.

  He could barely see over the top of the greenery in front of him. A dark gap, like a thick crack in the surface of a frozen lake, was moving directly for him—a beast was approaching fast, flattening the grass and plants as it came. Behind him, a branch cracked loudly. The breathing became a growl. It grew louder with each pounding step of the beast. From two sides, he thought. Three, if the one above gets involved.

  I’m going to be torn apart.

  He screamed.

  Eyes wide, jaw set, Xander pushed out of the bushes in front of David. He grabbed David by the head and yanked him back. The bushes engulfed them.

  “Xander! What are you—”

  “Shut up and come on.” Xander began crawling on his hands and knees. Every few feet he’d stop to pull David closer. The camcorder dragged on the ground, snagging on things, making David yank it with his neck.

  Behind them, the tigers were going crazy, growling, roaring, and by the sounds of it, swiping at the jungle with their claws.

  “What are we doing?” David whispered, his voice harsh, almost guttural. “Where are we going? There a
re three tigers—”

  “I know,” Xander said. He pulled David alongside him, threw his arm over his back, and gave him a squeeze. “Do you feel it? That tug Dad talked about?”

  “No, I—” Then he did: a gentle tug on the utility belt as though Xander had his finger looped into it, but he didn’t.

  The helmet too seemed a bit heavier on the upper right side, the same direction the belt was yearning to go. “That way!”

  he said.

  “Right. It has to be close. I just stepped out of the antechamber.”

  They crawled through the underbrush. The tigers roared and hissed and pawed. They knew where their meal was.

  They were taking their time, enjoying the hunt.

  David’s helmet grew heavier, pulling his head suddenly to the side. The belt almost yanked his hips past his body.

  Xander said, “Here! Hold on!”

  The brothers rolled as one and fell into a hole.

  CHAPTER

  thirty - four

  SUNDAY, 12:50 A.M.

  They crashed onto the wooden floor of the antechamber. The door slammed against David’s legs. He shifted them out of the way, and it banged shut. Xander was suddenly on top of him. He had fistfuls of David’s T-shirt, and he was shaking him.

  “See?” Xander said. He was so close, David felt spit spray his chin. “See? You didn’t listen to me and see what happened!”

  Tears ran from the corners of David’s eyes into the hair at his temples. He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t gonna cry, he wasn’t. He wasn’t so sure about Xander, though. His brother stopped yelling, but kept his double-fisted grip on David’s collar. They stared into each other’s eyes. Xander shook his head.

  The ferret in David’s chest was settling down. It scampered around and around, more slowly with each revolution. He squeezed his eyes shut, expelling the last of his tears. He could weep, probably should. He had almost died in the most horrific way. From the time he crossed the threshold to when Xander pulled him back, he had been terrified. Stalked by tigers. Hunted by humans. Almost knocked off a bridge. By all rights he should be dead.

  But he wasn’t. He wasn’t. That’s what he held onto. Air filled his lungs. Blood flowed through his veins. His brother was spitting on him. He was alive.

  He smiled, a big toothy grin. Into Xander’s gaping-stunned-frightened face, he said, “Can I do it again?”

  Xander pulled him up several inches, just so he could toss him down. David’s head conked against the floor.

  Xander said, “Idiot.” He pushed himself off of David. He picked up the camcorder, pulled the strap over his brother’s head, and dropped onto the bench.

  David lay on the floor, breathing hard. He said, “I’m kidding.”

  “You’re still an idiot.”

  David said, “Thanks for saving me. How much did you see?”

  Xander closed his eyes. “I put on the boots and the compass to open the door. At first, it was just colors, greens and browns. I leaned through the door a little more, just until I felt something trying to pull me in, and I could make out trees and leaves and stuff. It was like the portal was stuttering through the jungle, moving in little jerky motions. All of a sudden, I was right next to a tiger! I could smell it!”

  “There were three of them,” David said.

  Xander nodded, his eyes still closed. “I could tell there was more than one. I saw a flash of your shirt, but I wasn’t sure it was you. I waited to see if it would come around again. But then I was afraid I’d lose you completely, so I stepped through. Not far from you, as it turned out.” He examined the camera. It was dirty and scratched. He picked a leaf off it and tossed it to the floor. Immediately the leaf flipped in the air, as though caught in a draft, and fluttered away through the gap at the bottom of the portal door.

  David felt a shooting pain in the top of his shoulder. He touched his fingers to it, winced. When he looked, his fingers were bloody. And here he’d thought that arrow had missed.

  Xander said, “I was thinking. What if Dad hadn’t saved me last night?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s say I died or for whatever reason I didn’t come back.” He looked down at David. “What would happen to me?”

  “You’re dead?”

  “Or gone forever.”

  David’s brow furled in thought. “I think . . . if you’re dead, you’re dead.” He pursed his lips. “If you’re gone, you’re gone.”

  Xander pointed at him. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  David shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “What happened to the family who lived here before us?”

  “The dad killed everybody and—” David had a light-bulb moment. “Ahhh . . . You’re saying maybe that’s not what happened.”

  “What if they went over and died or couldn’t find their way back?”

  “All of them?”

  Xander shrugged. “I’m just saying. As far as anyone here would know, they disappeared.” He went back to fiddling with the camcorder.

  David closed his eyes. “You’re making my head hurt.”

  “No, listen. What if we just solved the biggest mystery in Pinedale’s history, and we just don’t have the details?”

  “Or evidence.”

  “I’m not saying we can clear anybody’s name. Just . . . wouldn’t it be cool to figure it out? To know the truth?” He held up the camera and made a disgusted face. He said, “Nothing . . . just static.”

  “How can that be?” David rubbed his chin where the camera had cracked it when he was on the rope bridge.

  Xander pushed a few buttons. His voice came through the tiny speaker: “. . . might not want to burp or do anything too embarrassing . . .” He fast-forwarded, turning the voices into incomprehensible chipmunk-chatter. David remembered what he’d said after that: “Like scream?” Yeah, he’d done a bit of that, hadn’t he? Xander got the video rolling at normal speed again: “. . . gonna get Dad and come after you.” A moment later: the rude hiss of static.

  “As soon as you stepped through,” Xander said. He set the camcorder on the bench and unstrapped the compass from his wrist.

  David rolled over. Groaning, he pushed himself up onto his knees. “Achy,” he said. “All over.”

  Xander nodded. “Take a shower. You’ll feel better.” He tugged off one of the boots.

  David grabbed hold of the bench, lifted himself onto it. He put his head back against the wall. “What you said? You know, finding the truth about that family?”

  Xander had the other boot off and was positioning them neatly on the bench. He said, “Solve a mystery, win a prize.”

  David said, “There’s something else about that. If what you say really did happen to that family . . .” His stomach turned over on itself. “What’s gonna stop it from happening to us?”

  CHAPTER

  thirty - five

  SUNDAY, 1:14 A.M.

  As Dad had done for him, Xander waited in the bathroom for David to shower. He tried being like Dad, saying comforting things and generally trying to get his brother’s mind off of nearly being eaten—by beast and man, to hear David tell it. His brother did seem better equipped to leave his horrifying experiences in the past than Xander had been. Now that it was history, and he was alive, David didn’t mind talking about it. Then again, David hadn’t seen the mutilated bodies, a dead boy who was about his own age.

  Twenty minutes later, Xander was sitting on his bed in the dark, listening to David ramble on about tigers and hunters and a centipede as thick as a hotdog and four times as long. David’s words became slow, and he started having a hard time finishing sentences. Then, he was asleep. Xander climbed into his own bed, exhausted. He had crashed almost three hours ago only to get up again because of David’s insatiable appetite for adventure. He hoped . . . he hoped something about David, but he was too tired to remember what it was. He fell asleep.

  He jolted awake. Sirens in his ears. A noise from his dreams was his first thought
, but then David was pushed up in bed, staring frighteningly at him. Smoke alarm? No, they had not installed them in this house yet. The clock on the nightstand between the beds said 2:21.

  “Toria,” David said, throwing off his blankets.

  Xander propelled himself out of bed, letting his sheets and covers find their own way off of his body. He leaped over the footboard and landed on his feet hard enough to rattle something on the dresser.

  Toria screamed. It was long and piercing, broken only by her need to fill her lungs. Then, more screaming.

  Xander bounded into the hall. A dark figure bolted at him from the other end. It raced by a night-light, and he saw it was Dad, with Mom right behind. Xander arrived at Toria’s room first and rushed in. By the glow of her own nightlight— Shrek’s Princess Fiona in full ogre mode—he saw she was sitting up in bed, eyelids clamped tight, screaming for all she was worth. He skidded to a stop beside her bed. He wanted to grab her but was afraid to. He gripped her leg through the blankets. Xander would have thought it impossible, but her screams became louder, more piercing.

  “Toria, it’s me! Xander!” It didn’t seem to matter.

  Only then did he think to scan the room for an intruder. He squinted into the dark corners and at the closed closet door.

  The overhead light snapped on, vaporizing the shadows and exposing not a hint of a boogeyman. Dad crashed into him. He plucked Toria out of her bed. Squeezing her to him, he said, “Honey, honey, what is it?” Then soothingly: “It’s okay; it’s okay.”

  Xander wasn’t sure it was, wasn’t sure of anything. But it was a parent’s job to say that. Hadn’t Dad spoken those words to him only the night before? He wondered if David had been so tough earlier because Dad hadn’t been there to quash a breakdown. Kind of a survival thing, conscious or not.

  Mom was at Dad’s side, brushing Toria’s hair away from her face. She kept saying, “Sweetheart, what is it?” David stood in the doorway, his mouth a perfect O in the whiteness of his face.